


At Last, Johnlock

by falsepremise



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Declarations Of Love, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Love Confessions, M/M, Slash, this story has been killed by canon, unless EMP ends up true in the future..., written pre-season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-19
Updated: 2016-03-19
Packaged: 2018-05-27 19:05:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6296167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/falsepremise/pseuds/falsepremise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The glory of Johnlock, as it might finally be (BUT WASN'T). Love, kisses, sex... No real details of how everything is resolved, skips to the Johnlock... Yeah- this story has been killed by canon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The first thing John noticed when he woke was the cool antiseptic smell. Hospital. He’d recognise it anywhere. He opened his eyes to see Sherlock dozing by his bed. 

Sherlock woke too with a start, “John. You’re awake.”

“Yes,” John replied adding with a deadpan expression, “Obviously.”

Sherlock grinned at the teasing.

John licked his lips and changed his position carefully, noticing the pain in his side as he did so. The events of the previous few days came back to him in flashes. He grimaced, both from the physical pain and from the psychological pain that he knew he had to confront, “Mary?”

Sherlock frowned, “Dead.”

John nodded. “And the baby?”

Sherlock cleared his throat, “They tried but…”

“Dead?”

“Dead.”

John closed his eyes and rested his head fully on his pillow. For awhile he just sat in silence. “Her chances wouldn’t have been high. I’m sure they did all they could.”

“I’m so sorry, John.” Sherlock replied.

John sighed, keeping his eyes closed as if he were trying to block the knowledge of his unborn daughter’s death from his mind. Sherlock simply sat with him, waiting.  
John opened his eyes again, “Sherlock?”

“Yes?”

“I’m not great with, that is, I just wanted to say thank-you.”

“I know, John,” Sherlock replied his eyes welling with tears.

And for a minute or two it was on the tip of both of their tongues. John wanting to ask Sherlock if his confession of love, said as John was possibly dying, had been for real. Sherlock wanting to ask John if he had heard the confession, if he remembered the confession. But John’s heart couldn’t take another disappointment just yet. For now, it was enough that Sherlock was alive and that he was there. And Sherlock couldn’t bring himself to talk about his own romantic feelings when John was still clearly grieving for his daughter. And so it went unspoken. 

Days turned to weeks and weeks to months. Sherlock visited every day and Sherlock and John found a comfortable routine. They spoke much of the old days, of cases and adventures.

After their first conversation, John didn’t mention Mary, the baby or their most recent adventure for an entire week. Until, “Rachael,” John murmured.

“Sorry?” Sherlock asked.

“Do you remember Rachael?”

“The password for the mobile. Our first case together. You saved me.”

“Yes,” John replied, “Rachael. Her stillborn daughter. Never made it out of the womb. And years later she hadn’t forgotten.”

Sherlock’s face contorted in pain, “I’m so sorry, John. If I could have…”

“Shh Sherlock,” John answered, “I know.”

John closed his eyes again and Sherlock waited. Eventually John said, “I wanted to name her Rachael, you know? It is a nice name.”

“You still could.” Sherlock replied, quietly making hopeful deductions to himself.

“Hmm?”

“Name her Rachael.”

John smiled, his eyes full of tears, “you know I think I will. Rachael Watson.”

As weeks turned to months, John began to heal physically. He began to anticipate discharge. And though it was never clearly asked, or clearly stated, it became increasingly obvious that John was to be discharged into Sherlock’s care. That he was going home to 221B Baker Street. John was relieved. There was nowhere he’d rather go. At Baker Street too, they quickly resumed old and comfortable routines and Mrs Hudson fussed over John enthusiastically. John’s usual physical abilities and strength gradually returned. And the comfortable routine of old, familiar habits, of being fussed over by Mrs Hudson and, in his own way, by Sherlock, acted as balm for John’s broken heart. Slowly but surely, the pieces began to stitch themselves together until the moments of sad remembrance for Rachel, the moments of complicated remembrance for Mary, weaved seamlessly into a life that was overall undeniably happy. 

And in all the steady months of John’s recovery, neither Sherlock nor John himself mentioned the Sherlock’s confession of love. At times the urge to speak of it arose, but they always passed it over in silence. Not quite ready yet. Not quite ready yet. Until…


	2. Chapter 2

John was determined that he wouldn’t wait another day before having the conversation. He was recovered, he was ready to face it, whatever the outcome.

He came home with Chinese and a bottle of wine determined to talk. Sherlock’s eyes flicked up from the experiment he was doing in the kitchen and took in the bottle of wine. John thought he could see deductions sliding into place behind his eyes.

“Dinner?” John asked.

“Love to,” Sherlock smiled.

“When you are ready,” John clarified, “Feel free to finish the experiment.”

“Just amusing myself,” Sherlock answered, “Now is perfect.”

John got plates and cutlery while Sherlock washed his hands. They helped themselves to the food.

“I went to that restaurant, you know, the one you like…” John began.

“Yes, I know, where I took you that first night, after you shot that dreadful cabbie for me,” Sherlock smiled.

“Yes,” John said, “You are right, it is the best. Wine?”

“Please.”

John poured the wine and took a large gulp, “Sherlock?”

“Yes, John?” Sherlock asked his blue eyes piercing, his hair curling around is perfect face.

“Er…” John backed away from the planned topic of conversation and moved to a related topic, that he hoped would be slowly approach what he really wanted to talk about, “I’m fully recovered I think.”

“Yes, I noticed,” Sherlock replied, “I’m glad. It is good to have you back.”

As Sherlock and John ate the conversation continued around John’s recovery and recent cases, sometimes skirting close to the topic, with John continually hinting, stopping just shy of outright saying anything. Sherlock seemed determined to wait for John to clearly initiate, and he would come close, then lose his nerve. 

Eventually the dinner was finished. John refilled their wine glasses and Sherlock took the empty plates into the kitchen. John gathered his courage.

When Sherlock came back from the kitchen he found John standing.

“Sherlock,” John began, then sighed, “oh damn, I’m not great at this…”

Sherlock waited patiently, poised, was this at last the moment they would talk about it?

John began again, “I just wanted you to know that I heard you, when I was dying. I thought, you mightn’t know whether or not I heard you or remembered… Or maybe you know and you have just been waiting for me to recover… Anyway, I heard. I remember... what you said…”

“And?” Sherlock asked on knife-edge.

John licked his lips, “Did you mean it?”

“Yes,” Sherlock replied smiling tenderly, “I love you, John. I love you so much.”

“As in, Sherlock, I think you mean, but do you really mean, that you love me er,” John stumbled around trying to find a way to say it without saying it and not finding one. He gulped and found the courage to simply say it, “Do you love me, romantically?”

“John, for Christsakes, yes, I adore you.” Sherlock strode forward, closing the distance between them and slowly, gently, kissed John on the mouth. 

John remained still, frozen, as if in a daze, finding it hard to truly comprehend what was happening.

“See, John?” Sherlock said his mouth still close to John’s, “This is what I mean”, planting another delicate kiss on John’s lips.

John woke from his daze and began to kiss Sherlock back, turning Sherlock’s delicate and gentle kisses into French kissing with ferocious passion. Sherlock groaned and John instinctively moved forward as they pashed, backing Sherlock up against the wall. 

“Oh, Sherlock,” John whispered in between kisses, “I love you too.”

“Obviously,” Sherlock smiled.

John giggled and soon they were both laughing. 

“Sherlock, please,” John said, his expression becoming serious again, “you really want this?”

“More than I’ve ever wanted anything, John,” Sherlock replied tenderly, “everyday for the rest of my life.”

John’s lips found Sherlock’s again and his tongue explored Sherlock’s mouth passionately as his hands wandered over Sherlock’s body. Sherlock groaned and reciprocated with his own hands. They continued to kiss hot and heavy, as John began to grind against Sherlock, finding him as hard as he was. 

“Oh God, John…” Sherlock groaned loudly.

The pressure, the friction, the sheer passion of the moment was so damn good, that John was tempted to just lose himself in it. But, no, Sherlock deserved better than that.  
“Bed…” John growled.

Sherlock’s eyes widened at John’s commanding tone and he obediently allowed himself to be manhandled towards his bedroom and pushed onto the bed. 

“Your clothes need to come off” John said thickly as he started fiddling with the buttons. 

“Yours too,” Sherlock whispered. With a flurry of desperate activity, they pulled each other’s clothes off.

“Oh God, you are gorgeous,” John whispered, kissing Sherlock tenderly.

“You are perfect, John, just perfect,” Sherlock answered, kissing him back. 

John kissed himself down Sherlock’s gorgeous body, tenderly caressing the milky white skin with his lips and tongue, all down his stomach, and legs, exploring his inner thighs. Sherlock sighed and groaned, “Oh, John, please…”

John smiled and took Sherlock into his mouth. “Oh!” Sherlock groaned loudly.

“John!” Sherlock exclaimed again as John explored him carefully with his tongue and mouth. 

As Sherlock’s cries of pleasure increased John stopped, returning to kissing him passionately.

“My turn,” Sherlock whispered, pushing John onto the bed.

He took a moment to simply look at John, to drink him in. And then worked his way down John’s body, exploring every inch of him carefully with his mouth and hands, noticing John’s reactions. Sherlock delighted in his ability to make John groan and writhe.

Finally, he took John into his mouth as John had done, thrilled at the way John’s breath had caught in his throat as he had done so.

He tenderly explored John with his mouth and tongue, trying to mimic John’s moves earlier and enjoyed John’s groans and quickening breath.   
“Oh, Sherlock,” John groaned, “stop, Sherlock, stop…”

Sherlock stopped immediately, worried he was doing something wrong but John smiled at him, “God, Sherlock I was so close then…” John laughed and Sherlock smiled, relieved.

“And I want us to come like this,” John said, pushing Sherlock back onto the bed and lying on top of him so that they were pressed together. John began to gently grind into Sherlock while he kissed him. The exquisite pressure and friction was back, this time without any clothes. 

“Oh…” John groaned, “I can’t last much longer…”

But it was Sherlock who came first, groaning, “John” as he did so. John followed soon after.

They stayed in position after, catching their breath and gazing into each other’s eyes. 

John leant forward and kissed Sherlock again, “Why did we waste so many years? Why didn’t we do this straight away?”

“Because we’re idiots,” Sherlock replied and they both laughed and laughed.

**Author's Note:**

> Various metas and general ideas within the fandom inspired details within this fic. I'd like to particularly mention how much I've enjoyed the meta of The Loudest Subtext in Television and Rebekah TJLC Explained's lovely YouTube series.
> 
> In real life- they should have discussed safe sex first. John, as a doctor, knows better.


End file.
